


but ours is a story worth suffering for

by deceptivelycomplex3925



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, but only like a little, but there's angst, it actually ends with them together!!!, sq happiness!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 15:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11150985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deceptivelycomplex3925/pseuds/deceptivelycomplex3925
Summary: It's easier when they do not stand too closely to one another. When they aren't ever usually in a room alone together. It's easiest when they do not hug. When they do not touch.But sometimes Emma wants to stomp the ground near that fucking ledge. Wants the rocks and dirt and earth to give way, crumble beneath her.Sometimes Emma wants to fall. And she wants to be holding Regina’s hand when she does.





	but ours is a story worth suffering for

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY. HI. First of all, I was reading a lot of the comments you all have written me on previous fics to find some much needed motivation to finish this and let me teLL YOU. I love y'all so fucking much. So. Fucking. Much. You all mean the world to me and literally without you I'd have given up on writing a year ago. 
> 
> So. Thank you. Endlessly. 
> 
> Now! First things first. Yes, Henry has a tortoise named Bass because Regina and Maura met one weekend at some convention featuring all things botany. Regina is a nerd like that, let me have my headcanon. AnywAY. Maura brings Bass, baby Bass, and her and Regina have such rapport that she gives it to Regina as a gift when Regina mentions how badly Henry has been begging her for a puppy. Tortoises live a long fucking time. So, yeah. Regina doesn't want Henry to go through the pain of losing a beloved pet and accepts the tortoise. Her and Maura send emails back and forth every once in a while. 
> 
> Secondly! Hook is mentioned in a few paragraphs. Heavily in one small one. Sorry, I felt like even this little bit wasn't enough to properly depict what I wanted. Whatever. 
> 
> Thirdly! This is basically just random snippets and scenes (a lot I'd had unfinished in my notes) that I threw together and tried to make seem like they weren't just random snippets and scenes (a lot I'd had unfinished in my notes). Let's hope I kind of succeeded! 
> 
> Umm...there was something else. This author's note is getting long. Shit. Some of y'all actually read these, I'm sorry!!
> 
> As literally always, it is somewhere around 7am, this is grossly unedited, and I could wait until I've had sleep to edit it and then post it, blah, blah. You know the routine. 
> 
> As a parting "please be kind to the writer who has multiple panic attacks a day and thinks her writing has gone down the shitter in the past year" last comment, I'm very nervous about this one-shot so I really hope you all enjoy it! 
> 
> I do it for you all <3

She almost jumps.

She does.

Her legs tense, her upper body twitches, sways forward.

There's her parents (who aren't dead, they're not dead, it's not _real_ , Emma), and her son. Killian.

And okay, Storybrooke is always one chaotic mess after another but it's home. It's _real_.

She almost jumps.

But there's also Regina. Regina, whom she will never leave. Regina, who came to save her.

Regina, who won't stop walking toward an arrow aimed right for her. Regina whose voice keeps getting softer with every step, a hitch creeping up into her tone Emma can hear now that the whooshing of the portal has completely stopped, their way home dissolving into the sand and rocks beneath her.

She feels a sharp pang of dread, of panic.

And then turns when she hears Robin speak again, sounding more confused than threatening now.

“One tense of muscle and this arrow could tear right through you and you're walking _toward_ it?”

Emma stays put, thinking that maybe if they call Rumple back here she could scrounge up something to offer him in return for another way home. But her eyes stay on Regina's back; she's still now, hands raised in a way that makes something inside of Emma twinge. An ache. Because of what this means to Regina, of course. Because Regina is going to have to let him go again. Because Emma _understands_.

Regina gives a breathy little chuckle at his words. Not completely dissimilar to the one she'd made just a moment ago after Emma’d been the one to elicit it.

Emma watches onyx hair bounce as she shakes her head. Robin’s gaze flicks over Regina's shoulder and to her. She raises up her hands, miming Regina, and tries for a friendly smile.

“Robin...it's...is that really you? Do you...do you remember me?”

And it blows through Emma, then. Her brow knits at the tone, the faint quake in it. The crack of the syllables. The disbelief making her sound so small, like a child seeing their fantasies come to life right in front of them. Tangible. Real.

But it's the _hope_ , so palpable and raw, that makes Emma angry. _Furious_ that this wish-world included him. How _dare_ it give him to Regina when he's going to be taken away yet again once they find another way to get home. (Because they will, dammit. They _will_.)

Robin’s brow furrows even deeper. He lowers his bow, just a little, eyes searching Regina's face, as if trying to place her from a memory.

She can picture with perfect clarity Regina’s expression. All watery, caramel eyes, crinkling at the corners from her smile. Tentative and _hopeful_.

“Regina,” Emma says, because this is going to be very bad. Because when Regina loves, she loves hard, and when she loses something, someone, she doesn't really let go.

Emma knows, just like she knows Regina always gives her the biggest slice of lasagna every Friday family dinner night, that Regina is going to latch onto this. Onto _him_. And she isn't going to let go.

“He isn't real, Regina,” she starts again, voice low and gentle as she steps forward, hands still up, palms facing out. Her boots crunch against debris, the water laps at the sand. “But you...we have a home, a son who _is_. They're very real. Regina, please. I know it's hard but you have to -”

Her last sentence has the desired effect. Regina _whirls_ on her, tears glistening on her lashes and eyes full of black fire. But Emma can see the anguish, could trace it in the lines around her mouth, the crinkle of her brow.

Emma can already tell that this Regina is going to be seared into her memory for months to come. Just like _you did this?_ and _I need you_ Regina. Just like _come on, Emma, see_ Regina.

And she will take it. She will take Regina’s pain, she will take her anger. She will always take it.

“You know _nothing_ ,” she seethes, coming closer to Emma as she says it.

And then there's the muted thunder of hooves, baritone shouting, and Emma spins, seeing the tops of shining armor helmets.

“We need to hide,” Emma says, eyes wide, as she turns back to Regina.

Regina, in turn, looks back at Robin.

Who's nowhere to be found.

The shouts are getting louder, more discernible, and their content isn't exactly welcoming, but Regina seems frozen in place, body facing where Robin had been, and she hears her mind whisper _save her again_ before she rushes forward and links her arm through Regina's, picturing flowers and towering trees.

They disappear in a white whirl just as she hears a very familiar voice yell, “ _There_!”

 

* * *

 

“Regina, take my heart.” Emma flicks her eyes over to see Regina staring down at her like she’d just confessed she was hoarding a closet full of crocs. “ _Now_ ,” Emma says through gritted teeth, eyes moving back to the brigade of marching men, those in the front (including Henry) on horses.

With only another second of hesitation, Regina does as she's told. Emma knows it was a bit more gentle than she would be with anyone else but fuck it's still a jarring sensation. She gasps without really meaning to and tries to ignore the quick flash of worry in Regina's eyes in favor of mustering up some acting skills; she makes her breathing erratic, knits her brow, looks out to Henry with eyes that plead and then to Regina with an expression of pure fear. Petrified Princess Emma, damsel in distress. She could do this. Hell, wish-land her had been doing that her entire life, hadn't she?

And it was working. She sees it in the set jaw of her son, the fiery determination.

“Hand her over unharmed, Evil Sorceress, and I might make your death quick and painless!”

And they both can't help it, they tilt their heads toward one another and share a look. Something like pride, something like disbelieved amusement. Also, Evil Sorceress? Come on, kid. At least get her title right.

Her heart glows steadily and brightly in Regina's hand, her fingers loose around it, like she's making an effort to be gentle with it.

Emma nudges her booted foot closer to Regina's, kicks at it. “Time to reign down holy terror, Your Majesty,” Emma mutters.

Regina scowls, then exhales a frustrated breath. “Emma, this is our son, what do you expect me to _do_?”

Oh, for the love of -

“Henry,” Emma cries out, injecting an extra wobble in the syllables. “ _Please_ , go back.”

Indefatigable, a Charming-Mills through and through, Henry takes a few thunderous steps forward, his armor clanking against his shoulders. “It's all right, Mom, I won't let her hurt you,” he bellows fiercely, eyes fixing on Regina. She sees his hand wrap tighter around his sword and it's then she notices the healthy distance between them and Henry and his soldiers.

She squints and sees Henry's eyes flicker from the ground on which Emma's currently kneeling to...Emma tilts her head back, looking up.

Shit.

“Regina,” she whispers, not moving her mouth. “New plan. Time to go.”

Emma reaches blindly for any part of Regina and they disappear in another white whirl just as a line of arrows from the treetops whizz past Emma’s ear.

They land near a small lake surrounded by a jagged dome of mountain.

Emma brings a hand up to brush over the lobe of her ear, fingers coming back clean.

“Those marksmen could use a bit more training in accuracy,” she grouses.

And then she looks over to Regina and sees the tear in the arm of her coat. The fingers of her right hand, the one not still cradled around Emma's heart, are stained in inky red and Emma's stomach drops.

“Shit. Regina.”

Emma’s hand that had grabbed for the crook of Regina’s elbow moves to the small of her back as she turns into Regina’s side and brings up her free hand to hover over Regina’s.

It's pushed away as Regina observes the wound. “It barely even broke skin,” she murmurs, sounding more offended than angry. Emma blinks.

“Um, please tell me that's irritation because they actually got you and not because they were about six inches off from their actual target.”

“That kind of incompetency is ludicrous! Though, I guess I shouldn't be so surprised, they were trained under your parents.”

Regina’s wry smirk has Emma rolling her eyes, shoving her away so she steps back a few feet. Regina flutters her fingers over the admittedly small gash, a hue of lavender before the skin is unblemished, the tear sowing itself back together.

“I was worried, you asshole.”

Regina chuckles. “Well, if you're going resort to name calling I can just…”

She moves toward the still lake, cocking her arm back to toss her heart.

Emma doesn't buy it. “You aren't fooling anyone, Regina.” Her smile is crooked when she sees Regina actually blush. She even clears her throat.

Emma files the expression away.

“Would you like me to...?” She motions toward Emma's chest and now it's Emma's who fumbles awkwardly. Regina's held her heart before but this time it's just the two of them and there's no rush of urgency.

So yeah, Emma may be blushing a little now, too.

“Um, oh. Yeah, sure. I mean, you've done it before so it's probably, like, easier to slip in this time,” her hiccup of a laugh morphs into a mortified grimace and she wishes she could sink through the grass.

Her eyes shoot up to catch Regina’s expression and she huffs when she sees the unbridled amusement. “You know what I meant, shut up.”

“Indeed,” Regina says, a soft exhale. Emma swallows at the tenderness in the words, in her eyes.

When Regina places her heart back into her chest, Emma feels no pain. Just warmth, a swelling, comfortable kind of tension, an ebbing tingle.

Her eyes flutter against the feeling.

But her gaze does not leave Regina’s.

 

* * *

 

It’s been months since that moment and yet she can’t stop thinking about Regina’s eyes.

She’s softer lately, her edges blunted. Emma often wonders if Regina aches for their loss as much she does. For their similarities.

Emma’s so distracted by this flood of memories, thrown off by Regina’s accidental admission, that she speaks before thinking. Before filtering.

“I’d have killed him for that.”

She’d have flayed him, peeled the charred flesh from his bones, and spread it across the beloved deck of his _boat_ before setting the entire thing aflame. She’d revel in the ashes, the smell.

She blinks rapidly, momentarily struck motionless by the sheer morbid violence freely swimming in her thoughts. She turns in time to see Regina’s head fall back on a laugh, her neck bared and beautiful, and Emma’s stunned once again.

Stunned by how suddenly and viscerally she wants to press her lips just below that enviously glorious jawline. How acutely she wants to leave a mark.

“Emma, you were The Dark One for all of five minutes. And you've forgiven him for far, far worse.”

And maybe it's the way Regina’s voice dips down, turns softer, perhaps even melancholic, maybe it's the actual words themselves, realizations even she's filed away, ignored. Maybe it's that she's just plain angry.

“None of what he'd done had been to you,” Emma responds. She watches Regina’s head jerk up a bit, eyes searching her face, blinking in obvious surprise at the fierceness in her tone. Like maybe it still comes as a shock to her every time Emma defends her. Like maybe, no matter what, it always will.

Emma watches her gaze track down, trace the curve of her mouth, before tipping back up, brow furrowed.

“Emma,” she sighs, looking away, the two syllables packed with so much exhaustion it bleeds, drips thick and murky crimson. Emma half expects there to be droplets of it on her jacket sleeve. “It happened years ago. It doesn't matter anymore.”

Emma wants to push. Wants to says it _does_ matter.

She keeps quiet; feeling far too guilty for the tiredness that seems to be ever-present in Regina’s expression when they talk about things that are too heavy.

Regina stands and brushes at her slacks before running the same fingers through her shoulder-length hair.

Emma likes her hair a bit longer. Had mentioned it once a month ago. Sometimes she wonders, idiotically, if Regina’s let it grow out because of the comment.

“Thank you for lunch,” she says, a facsimile, tone gone intentionally casual, wrung dry of emotion. When she moves to step past, Emma - who's still sitting on the couch - impulsively, thinking nothing but _wait_ , feeling suddenly desperate for _more_ of Regina, maybe just more time with her, she doesn’t spend as much time with her anymore - reaches for her hand, heart stuttering in rhythm whenever Regina’s breath catches at the touch.

With that one seemingly innocuous movement, Emma’s brought them once more to that precipice. That edge of something more. And they avoid it with aplomb - always have. They’ve choreographed an elegantly intricate dance just along the overhang, toes never stepping over that invisible barrier. That dip into the unknown.

It's easier when they do not stand too closely to one another. When they aren't ever usually in a room alone together. It's easiest when they do not hug. When they do not touch.

But sometimes Emma wants to stomp the ground near that fucking ledge. Wants the rocks and dirt and earth to give way, crumble beneath her.

Sometimes Emma wants to fall. And she wants to be holding Regina’s hand when she does.

“Don't be cruel, Emma.”

It's a whisper, hoarse and jarring. It confounds Emma, has her brow pulling together, her mouth parting. She thinks, _but_ _I_ _just_ _want_ _to_ _be_ _near_ _you_. And then she’s aware of Regina’s thumb brushing over the ring on her finger.

She stumbles back from their edge. That invisible line.

There's a reason they don't hug. A reason they don't touch.

She yanks her hand back as if Regina had scalded it.

“S-sorry, I'm - _fuck_. I'm sorry.”

Regina just smiles. This one, like the last, doesn't reach her eyes. It sears itself into the back of Emma’s brain.

 _I_ _know_ , it says. _I know you are._

Emma walks out of Regina’s office in a haze, stumbling for real this time, rapidly blinking eyes and unhearing of Leroy’s usual gruff departing commentary, the ring on her finger so tight she feels each thump of her pulse.

 

* * *

 

“Listen, I know you think you're all-knowing and everything because you're ‘The Author’ but I'm telling you, baby versus tortoise? Baby wins every time.”

Henry scoffs, laying out the rest of the pillows to use as bumpers for their makeshift track.

“Oh, please. I'm not even going to bet my allowance on this because I know it's your week to fork it up and you're a sore loser on a good day, I can't imagine how awful you'd be broke.”

“Um! One.” She holds up a finger as she lays Robyn on her stomach in between her outstretched legs, positioning her so she's facing the finish line (a bottle next to a pile of strawberries) between the two walls of pillows. “Rude. Two: money is a social construct.”

“Yeah, and you're a member of society so it has value. It also keeps water and electricity running. Both things societal members, even in a town created by a curse, enjoy. A _lot_.”

Emma glares at him. Henry grins and places Bass down next to Robyn, not quite as big as her yet.

Robyn kicks her legs and gurgles, already inching forward, and Emma lurches to catch her, sliding her back to starting line.

“Whoa there Bolt, you gotta wait until we say go!”

She nods to Henry who gives her a narrowed _you’re toast_ glare before holding onto Bass’s shell and bending down to whisper something at her head. Emma rolls her eyes before hesitating and leaning down to do the same.

“All right munchkin, you win this and I'll let you chew on my fingers until you zonk out. Deal?”

Robyn babbles incoherently. Emma takes it as confirmation.

“Okay,” she says before sitting up again. “Three, two, one... _G_ -”

“What the bloody hell are you two doing with my daughter?”

Henry lets go of Bass and pushes at the back of her shell, already clapping and calling out in encouragement.

She doesn't budge. Robyn spits up on the carpet. Zelena magics away the stain and all their pillows.

“Awe, come on Aunt Zelena, I was going to have the beautiful satisfaction of kicking Ma’s ass!”

Emma thwacks the back of his head for the swear word. Henry scowls, rubbing at it; Zelena rolls her eyes.

Henry and Emma are effectively kicked out after that.

“She's just mad because she knows Bass would've won,” Henry mutters as he picks up said tortoise and Emma takes his hand, all three of them disappearing in a cloud of white a few seconds later.

They end up in the mansion’s kitchen and Regina smacks Emma’s hand away when she sees a delicious-looking coconut meringue pie setting out on the island and goes to dip her finger in it.

“Out of my pie, Emma Swan,” she says as she turns, bending down to retrieve what looks like an apple one from the oven. She's wearing a midnight blue dress and an apron. Her feet are bare, her toes the exact shade of her dress. Emma almost chokes on air at the double entendre. Emma isn’t sure if it was intentional or not; she can’t see Regina’s expression. So she just clears her throat and affects a put-out glare. Which, well. She _is_ put-out - she wants pie, dammit... Regina’s especially - so it’s convincing.

“Unfair,” Emma pouts. “You always let Henry taste-test!”

Regina arches a brow at her, a small smirk tugging up the corner of her mouth. Henry sneaks some cream off the top while Regina’s back is turned once more to take off her mitt and shut off the stove.

“Hey!” Henry ducks under Emma’s arm and hurries out of the kitchen, an _s’great_ , _Mom_! thrown over his shoulder.

Emma scowls at the side of Regina’s head as she sets the pie on a cooling rack.

“Another minute of _that_ and I'll definitely let you have a piece of this.” Regina tosses her a reproachful, amused look.

Emma scuffs the toe of her shoe against the floor, finger pressing into the countertop as she stares forlornly at the spread on the island. Regina's been busy tonight it seems.

“Oh for god’s sake. You're worse than our son was as a toddler. Here.”

And before Emma knows it, Regina’s moving around the island, dipping her finger into the whipped cream, and offering it up to Emma’s mouth.

On automatic, smiling from ear to ear and feeling especially victorious, she leans forward and takes the proffered index finger entirely into her mouth. And sucks.

Laves her tongue around the digit, eyes fluttering at the burst of flavor.

It takes her a few seconds to register the sound. A gasp, a sharp inhale. Followed by a strangled exhale.

Emma’s eyes fly open to find Regina’s glued to her mouth, half-lidded, her own mouth parted, the scar above the top one unfairly prominent tonight under the soft glow of the dimmed lighting.

There's a tug at the back of her navel, a building, prickling heating crawling up her neck, familiar and flushing down the dip of her spine before knotting at the base of it.

She's on autopilot when she reaches up and presses light fingers to the back of Regina’s wrist, adds pressure and slides her finger out just a little. She flicks her tongue.

Regina’s inhale this time is a stuttered mess, eyes never leaving Emma's mouth.

She feels the blood whooshing frantically in her ears, feels a little drunk off Regina’s reactions, feels far, far too reckless.

Her left hand hangs, forgotten, by her side.

She isn't thinking when she takes a step forward. When light pressing turns into fingers wrapping around an entire wrist. When she hooks her thumb under Regina's middle finger and adds it into her mouth as she bobs her head, eyes fixed on Regina’s. There's a second where dark brown flickers up, irises glittering, searching. A weighted, most certain challenge.

Emma levels up to it, drags her teeth until she feels the slight change in texture, skin curving into nail. There's a protracted pause. A tandem beat of hearts. A hitch of breath. And then Regina's hand is curling around the back of her neck, wet knuckles bumping against her cheek and jaw, and Emma gasps.

The sound of the dryer buzzing breaks them apart, both of them startling, breathing hard.

Regina closes her hand into a fist, the fingers that had been in Emma’s mouth bending in with it, both of them glistening with Emma’s saliva.

Emma swallows - the dampness of her cheek starting to dry, Emma's acutely aware of the feeling - pushes away from the island.

They catch each other’s gaze. And Emma bolts.

 

* * *

 

It’s only fitting when she shows up at her parent’s door the next night holding Killian’s hand as she knocks with the other. Her heart is a jackhammer inside her chest but she smiles and leans into his side when he bends down for a quick kiss. Her free hand comes up to rest against the knitted fabric of his sweater, scratching gently. Her mother had made it for him last Christmas. He wears it almost every time they have dinner here. It almost doesn’t annoy Emma anymore.

Regina isn’t brought up for half an hour.

Killian, with a not at all covert side-eye to her, is the one to comment on her absence. Emma barely catches her own glare, instead closing her hand in a fist and shifting her eyes to the kitchen where her mother is doing the dishes.

She’d offered to help, like she always does, and like always she’d shooed her away and given a very pointed smile toward Killian, nodding her head. Regina usually helped with the dishes. Emma liked to watch her, the two of them, the easy, methodical way they would do them relaxing to her. Mom washed, Regina dried and put them away, always knowing exactly which cabinet to place them in.

 _Family_ , she would think.

“She called to say she made dinner for her and Zelena and wouldn’t be able to come tonight.” Snow responds, eyes softening with fondness and then giving a wry chuckle as she washes the silverware. Emma tilts her head, wondering if there’s more to the statement, wanting to ask why it’s funny, wondering if her and Regina have frequent phone calls like that.

Wondering why Regina doesn’t call _her_ anymore.

Knowing but choosing to deny why.

She was very good at denying. She was very good at pretending. At doubling. One person with Killian, another with everyone else.

David walks into the room a moment later, carrying Neal on his shoulders. Mary Margaret sees and gives a huff of breath, exasperation and rebuke in the sound.

“David…”

“Oh, come on, Snow. He isn’t going to _fall_ , I have my hands on him the entire time, always. See?”

Mary Margaret levels him with an icy glower and David relents, lifting Neal up and off his shoulders, opting to hold him on his hip instead. “Your mom’s a spoilsport, kiddo, sorry.”

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes and then dips her head, trying to catch Neal’s eyes as her lips curve into a smile, soft and over-spilling in its love. Emma’s own grin falters, slides off her face - she has to look away, hears _Did you have a good nap, my perfect boy? Huh?_ and though she wishes she could burn the thoughts to ash, she can’t; they always bubble up to the surface when she’s around her parents and her little brother for too long.

Another thought niggles at the edges of her brain, one she isn’t quick enough to eradicate.

_It’s always a little easier to handle when you’re with Regina._

When she turns her head she catches Henry’s eyes, knowing and gentle from his position on the floor, open books and a notebook sprawled out in front of him.

That night she doesn’t just try to please Killian, she _worships_ him, tries to pour every ounce of herself into his skin, his lips. She tries to be everything he’s ever wanted, needed, tries to convey how much she wants that. Because she is his wife, shouldn’t she want her husband to be happy? Sated? She loves him. She wants him. She needs him.

But after she bites down and does so a little too roughly, layering kisses along his neck turning into teeth, he cries out and she jerks back, blinking down at him, eyes wide.

Because the words that are rushing to her tongue ( _I’m_ \- _that_ _was_ _an_ _accident_ , _I’m_ _so_ _sorry_ ) are a lie and suddenly she can’t speak at all, her throat constricting around a swallow as realization, _fucking_ _realization_ , washes over her like a torrential downpour that puts her mouth to shame.

She loves him _more than_ _her_. She wants him more than _her_. She needs him _more than_ _her_.

Emma scrambles off of him, ignores his grabbing hand and words of protest and then concern, and reaches out for the wall, the hinge of the door.

She’d been trying to _spite_ _Regina_ by having sex with her _husband_.

She’d been -

“ _Oh my god_.” It breaks loose from her throat, coming out a tremulous whisper.

She sleeps in her car that night (when it finally, finally stops eluding her) somewhere deep within the forest.

 

* * *

 

It isn't the guilt that gets to her (though she's sure she'll have scars where it's eaten at her flesh), nor the constant self-loathing she feels for lying to the man she's in love with every moment of every day.

It's the pregnancy scare.

The flooding of images. Her and Killian giving their baby its first bath. Her and Killian on the floor, coaxing; gentle encouragement of their baby’s first steps. Their toddler dragging a cardboard sword across the floor, an eye patch and a tinfoil hook for Halloween.

Yet there was no smile on her face, no bubbling mirth, no burst of anticipation in her chest.

She felt, for the first time in a year, the almost overwhelming urge to _run_. Run and don't stop. Keep going. Further, further.

When she places the ring in his palm, tears in both their eyes, he isn't angry. He begs her to stay, gets down on his knees for it, wraps his arms around her legs and leans his forehead against her navel, his words and the salt of his tears staining her shirt.

She runs her fingers through his hair, almost takes it all back.

Almost.

When she walks out of their house that night - she'll stay with her parents until she finds another place - each step feels like a weight sliding off her shoulders and thumping behind her like stones, indentations in the soft ground.

Relief. It's almost like she can breathe, unobstructed, again for the first time in years. Since before Killian. Before becoming The Dark One, before risking her entire family to save him in The Underworld. Before their wedding. Before Neverland and _don’t you know, Emma? It’s you_.

She pauses on the side of the road, tilts her head up to the sky. It's cloudy today; she remembers hearing something about it storming later. She thinks it appropriate. A sign.

A cleansing. Metaphorically and literally.

She closes her eyes as the sky seems to open up just for her, raindrops splashing on her cheeks, her forehead, her eyelids, her lips. An appraisal, a reward. She takes in a deep breath, the air smelling like wet pavement, and smiles.

 

* * *

 

“Mom, honestly. I'm fine. More than, really.”

She doesn't seem convinced. In fact, she's being subjected to another girl’s night because her mother thinks she's about a sneeze away from a mental breakdown.

“Snow,” Regina cuts in when she moves to give Emma another hug. “I think you've more than surpassed your quota...for the year.”

Regina gets a squinted glare out of that before her mom’s gaze flits between the two of them and she blinks, a slow smile spreading across her face.

“I'll just…” she points over to where Ruby and Belle are attempting to teach Mulan how to do the electric slide.

“Why does she always look at us like that?” Emma asks, eyes following her mom as she joins in on the dance lesson.

She sees Regina shrug out of the corner of her eye. “Sometimes I wonder if all the memory resets and alterations haven't left a little damage.”

Emma swats at her arm. Regina turns to her, eyes aglow with wry mischief, smirk firmly in place.

“That was me with my highest level of censor in place, Miss Swan.”

Emma’s skin tingles at the playful use of her old moniker. It's been a while. She chuckles.

“You know, there's been such a wide range of emotions I've felt all these years of you calling me that.”

Regina arches a brow, dark inquisition. She takes a sip of her drink. Emma hums, watching Regina’s mouth, the dart of a pink tongue to catch some pale red liquid along her bottom lip. Emma doesn't take a sip of her beer. She takes two large gulps.

“Yep. The first one was anger. ‘Miss Swan’ was riddled with condescension that first year.”

Regina’s smirk grows. “Well, you did get in a good punch for it.”

“And you gave me a scar,” Emma chuckles, reaching up to push against the skin beneath her eyebrow.

Regina startles at this and Emma realizes she probably never noticed the scar, its placement.

Emma rushes to placate. “It's not a-”

“Why didn't you - I - _Em-ma!_ ”

“Oh my god, it's obviously fine _now_ , stop.” She pushes at Regina's hand when she tries to brush her fingers over it, guilt etched into the creases around her eyes.

“Regina, I swung first. You just pack a mightier punch.”

Regina glares. It's more of a pout than anything and Emma laughs. Full-bodied.

Her stomach flutters when it elicits an awestruck smile in return.

An hour later, she's watching Regina and her mother play pool, having declined a playful offer from Regina, when Mulan comes to sit beside her at the bar.

Emma’s eyes don’t stray.

She doesn’t realize she’s crying until her vision blurs.

Mulan, who chooses her words carefully, Mulan who Emma has always thought of as one of the most perceptive people she’s ever met, lays a gentle hand over her own.

“Stop torturing yourself, Emma,” her voice is as gentle as her touch. Emma swallows roughly. “You’re allowed to want to be with her. You both have been through enough pain. Don’t prolong it because you’re afraid you don’t deserve to have happiness.”

Emma dips her head, eyes closing as tears fall down her face, unseen by everyone but Mulan.

The hand over hers squeezes before it disappears.

Emma takes in a deep breath and glances up, Mulan’s eyes open, knowing, and so very kind that Emma can only manage a rasped thank you.

 

* * *

 

She’s in that limbo between awareness and sleep when she hears the door creak open.

Her hand moves on automatic, grabbing for the closest object and wrapping around it, turning over and launching it at the distorted black shape slipping into the room.

It hits something with a thud. The door; it clicks shut at the force.

“ _Emma_!” Someone hisses. Regina.

She flops back on the bed, huffing out a breath. “For fuck’s sake, Regina. I thought you were a ghost.”

Regina crawls into the bed with her, laying atop the sheets, facing her. They're close enough that Emma could reach out and brush her fingers over Regina's arm.

“So you threw...a pillow at it?”

“Shut up, I'm still a little drunk and I was half-asleep.”

“You do remember you have magic? That you're the -”

Her next words are muffled, morphing into a muted chuckle as Emma squashes another pillow in her face. Every bed in Regina's house has about ten pillows each. Emma chalks it up to Regina's ridiculous need to be melodramatic at all times, in every facet of her life.

“This is my guest room, I can kick you out, ya’know.”

Regina takes the pillow and slides it under her head. “I’d like to see you try, Swan.”

“What is this, Throwback Thursday?”

Regina just chuckles again, an exhale of a breath. Emma’s suddenly very aware of the fact that Regina is in bed with her.

“I...wanted to make sure you were okay.” It's a whisper. Emma can't really make out her expression but the tenderness in the words is all she needs to scoot a little closer and reach out to feel for Regina's hand. When her fingers trail across the back of it she feels Regina flip it, lace their fingers together.

Emma swallows, heartbeat doing an annoying little jump at the contact.

“I'm fine,” she responds just as quietly. “Really.” She squeezes her hand for added assurance. Because she is. She's been... _god_ , she's never felt better. More free.

All she ever needed, _wanted_ was a family. One that wasn't going to send her away because they finally were able to have another baby (Neal is different, Neal is _different_ \- one day, she tells herself, one day she'll believe it - she's _trying_ for them). A home that was solid beneath her feet and wasn't going to get pulled out from under her at the slightest upset.

She's starting to finally learn that she can make mistakes and it be _okay_. She still has nightmares sometimes, still gets jarred awake with insecurities.

But she has her parents. Her baby brother. Her son.

Regina.

They aren't going anywhere. (They aren't, they aren't).

“It'd been something I…” she doesn't want to elaborate, doesn't want to talk about him ever again. She's done bending herself in whichever way she thought he'd like her best. She's done trying to make someone content at the expense of cutting away pieces of her own happiness. “I should have done it a long time ago,” she settles on.

Regina's thumb rubs against her knuckle, shifts and wriggles their fingers apart a little so that her fingertips are tracing at Emma's palm, the line of her own finger where a ring used to be. “Emma...it's - I don't want to sound like I'm -”

“It wasn't because of what happened between us,” Emma says, knowing exactly what she was going to ask by the hesitancy of the words.

They'd never spoken of that day, the following night.

Regina's thumb pauses and Emma’s eyes have adjusted enough that she can see Regina's gaze on her, mouth parted.

Her voice is small, a touch hoarse, when she says, “I thought I'd imagined that night.”

Emma squeezes again. “You didn't.”

They both drift off after that. Regina's thumb continues its caress, Emma feeling so safe, so warm.

She thinks she's dreaming when she hears Regina whisper once more.

“Dulces sueños, my darling Emma.”

 

* * *

 

David’s beating her at trashcan basketball when Zelena and Regina come into the station, Robyn bouncing on Regina’s hip and Zelena carrying two grease sodden brown take-out bags.

“Oh my god, I love you.”

Emma nearly moans when the bags are set on the desk and Emma digs a hand in and pulls out three fries, shoving them into her mouth, eyes fluttering.

“Sorry, sis. Cat’s out of the bag.”

Emma shoots Zelena a look, unwrapping her burger and shaking it a little. “I meant the _food_.”

Zelena tsks, feigning disappointment before shrugging, taking Robyn from Regina when she cries out for her. “I never really was into blondes. That'd be this one’s flavor of choice.” She jerks her head, scrunching up her face in a very Regina-like manner.

Emma chokes on her burger. Regina avoids Emma's eyes as she gives one of her forced smiles, all clenched teeth and curled fists.

“Enjoy your lunch. Stop climbing trees to fetch Mrs. Norris’s cat if you're going to end up snapping every branch in the process. And _do the paperwork_.” Here, she does glance up at Emma, a reproach. Then, to David. “ _Both_ of you.”

Emma starts to protest about how the thing is a fucking demon cat who stays on the thickest branch and then once she's reached it, jumps to a thinner one, and after it happens three more times she's grabbing it by the neck and falling to the ground in one simultaneous move. How she always does her paperwork...eventually.

She sulks as she watches Regina’s retreating backside, the form-hugging charcoal dress she's got on doing wonders for her -

“Ass.”

Emma splutters, half her drink draining into her lungs as she inhales, the soda burning her nostrils and throat.

Coughing, she looks over at him, eyes wide. “What?” Emma croaks.

David looks a little uncomfortable...but he's also smirking?

“Stop staring at her ass,” he repeats and Emma's mouth falls open.

And then she pelts him with a fry.

 

* * *

 

“You never did tell me what other emotions ‘Miss Swan’ elicited in you.”

They're in the kitchen baking Henry a cake for his surprise birthday party later.

Emma’s been relegated to dish washing which means she's eating some of Henry’s brown icing out of the tub. Regina accidentally bought one too many so really Emma’s just doing her a favor.

“Oh,” Emma says after swallowing down a spoonful. “Um -”

“Regina, how do you get to Netflix?”

Mary Margaret walks in, remote in hand, staring at it like the buttons contain numbers and letters of a different language.

Regina doesn't break their eye contact and Emma nearly swallows at the heat behind it.

Almost like...almost like…

Regina clears her throat, stepping forward to take the remote from Mary Margaret’s hand.

“See the button that says ‘Netflix’? You push it and it takes you right there.”

Mary Margaret nods, as if Emma hadn't shown her how to work Regina’s TV a few weeks ago, before looking around the kitchen. Her eyes settle on Emma. She hopes to god she isn't actually blushing.

Except she must be because then her mother says, saccharine tone, “It’s a little too hot in here for me, I'm glad I left the baking to my two favorite girls!”

She saunters out of the kitchen. Regina scrunches up her nose in disdain. Emma ducks her head and tries to convince herself the warmth in her face is from the heat of the oven and not because of the way Regina’s skirt rides up a little every time she bends down to check on the cake.

 

* * *

 

“ _Moms_.”

They’ve made him blow out all sixteen candles, and when the lights flick back on Emma nods to Mary Margaret who counts down from three before snapping a picture, Henry sandwiched between both his mothers as they kiss either side of his cheek.

Regina swipes away her lipstick smudge and chuckles, the sound hitched slightly higher with elation. “Sorry, sweetheart,” she breathes.

Her cheeks are flushed, her hair curled and slightly frizzy - Regina’d complained about it earlier in Spanish…Emma had been too distracted by the sound of the language in Regina’s mouth to ask what it meant. But she’d used the context of the situation, and the rapid-hissed Spanish, to get the gist. Regina _hated_ her frizz.

Emma’s kind of in love with it.

She hears the click of another photo and frowns, looking over to her mother who gives her a cheshire-adjacent grin and slips the phone into her back pocket.

Emma narrows her eyes at her; she’ll sneak the phone away later.

Her mother smirks and raises an eyebrow like she knows exactly what Emma’s thinking.

Her mother is annoying.

There’s suddenly a loud chorus of laughter and Emma turns to see that Zelena’s smeared Henry’s face with a handful of icing.

She’s cackling and Regina’s wiping icing from his eyes so he can open them while he licks at the icing wherever his tongue can reach. Her parents look on, matching looks of unbridled affection, her baby brother on her dad’s waist, her mother’s thumb brushing over the top of his socked foot as she snaps pictures with her other hand.

Emma shakes her head, feeling almost goofy at the intensity of her smile.

She loves them.

 

* * *

 

“How many times do I have to tell you Emma, your socks do _not_ go in with my silk blouses.”

“Okay, then why are they the same color.”

Regina levels her with a grade A ‘you're not even slightly amusing, Emma Swan’ look and Emma just rolls up a pair of damp socks and chucks it at Regina’s head.

Regina’s bent over the washer attempting to get the rest of Emma's cotton socks out when it thuds against her temple. She stills.

“You did not just do what I think you did.”

Emma bites back a smile and bats her eyelashes. “Do what exactly? I'm an innocent, Regina.”

“An innocent who ruins expensive blouses weekly.”

Emma's hands fly up and then smack loudly against her jean-clad thighs. “Okay, since when the fuck is it a rule to not ‘intermingle’ socks and blouses?!”

Regina glares and grabs the last little pile of Emma's socks and tosses them in one of the laundry baskets to be put in another load.

“Ma, even _I_ know that rule,” Henry comments as he walks past the laundry room heading for the kitchen.

Regina smirks, proud as ever. Emma glowers at them both, feeling immensely betrayed.

“Kid, one of these days you're going to get in trouble and when it comes to your mom and I punishing you I'm going to remember this moment.”

“Like you two would ever ‘punish’ me,” Henry snorts from the kitchen and Regina and Emma stare at each other, mouths hanging open.

Emma points to Regina and whispers, “That's all your doing, not mine.”

Regina rolls her eyes and reaches to grab a handful of Emma's wet socks, lobbing them at her and smirking when they hit her square in the face.

Emma sputters and wipes the water from her cheeks. “Okay, that was fair...but also, just remember, Your Majesty, payback is a bitch.”

Regina gives her a wide grin, all teeth and glittering eyes. “And just remember, dear, I don't have to let you do your laundry here.”

 

* * *

 

“Grams, she has a _toothbrush_ there.”

She takes a sip of her drink and brushes the fine hairs across Neal’s forehead, nodding like this isn't at all surprising to her. Which, really, he'd have been surprised if she'd have been surprised.

“I'm shocked she only stays in that guestroom a few nights a week.”

Henry grabs a few fries off his plate and takes a bite out of them, chewing and swallowing (because his mom could literally pop up out of nowhere and rebuke him for not having proper table manners and he doesn't need Grams to see that) before responding. “Yeah, and she even has her pull-up arm thingie screwed into the closet doorway. Honestly.”

If he didn't know how wrong it was, he'd abuse the power of his pen and write out a scene in which they were _forced_ to see how meant to be they were. But he would never do that to anyone, let alone his moms.

“Well Henry, we all see it but they don't and we can't force them to, nor should we,” Gramps says, giving a pointed look to Grams. She just shrugs.

“But Gramps,” he counters, nearly a whine. He may know boundaries but that doesn't mean he’s above complaining. “It’s been _years_. You know they had a sock fight last night in the laundry room?”

Gram’s eyebrows shoot up, this time surprise flickering across her features. “They were fighting over laundry?”

Henry nods, taking a gulp of his soda. Grams and Gramps always let him have the good stuff (probably because they know it'll annoy Mom). “Mom yells at Ma like every week for ruining her super expensive blouses.”

“Oh, David,” Grams says, looking at Gramps like Henry had just told her Mom and Ma were getting married.

Gramps shakes his head, hands waving a little with the motion. “Absolutely not, Snow. Emma needs to figure this out on her own. And so does Regina.” He puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. “They'll figure it out. And when they do, we'll be there to support them.”

“Yeah, and I'll get my twenty bucks from Aunt Zelena,” Henry mumbles around a mouthful of cheeseburger. It’s the least she could do after robbing him and Bass of a glorious win months ago. Yeah, he wasn’t letting that go.

 

* * *

 

“Oh honestly, just mount her on the desk and tear each other’s clothes off already.”

Emma jerks away from Regina, crying out and hand flying to her cheek before stumbling back into one of the office chairs.

Regina sighs. “Zelena, I had just finished cleaning her wound.”

Emma prods at the laceration on her right cheekbone and glares, fingers a deep red.

“That had better be grilled cheese or I refuse to babysit ever again.”

Zelena pauses, arching a brow and snorting softly before tossing the brown paper bag into Emma’s lap, the bottom corners of it darkened by grease.

“And a kale salad.” She scrunches her face up in disgust as she hands the plastic box to her sister.

“Emma’s ingesting enough calories to send an elephant into a coma and you're making a face over _my_ food choice?”

Zelena shrugs. “It’s rabbit food.” Zelena runs her fingers through some of Regina’s hair. “I guess all that green is good for something, though.” She turns to Emma. “Maybe you should put some of this on your grilled cheese, Emma, I can hear your split ends crying from here.”

Emma’s mouth drops in offense around a swallow of grilled cheese - Regina grimaces - a tiny stream of blood dripping down her jaw. “Excuse me! I get compliments on my hair all the time. I use Nexus. I don't have split ends. Smell it.”

Her sister rolls her eyes and sighs again, this one borne of pure affection and only maybe a fraction of actual irritation. She grabs the bottle of alcohol and a gauze pad and moves to Emma’s side once more.  _God_ , these two are nauseating.

“I think I'll pass,” Zelena says, lips curving. “Perhaps my sister will do the honor.”

She gets an icy glare at that and her smirk only grows as Emma narrows her eyes and looks between the both of them, wincing a little as Regina cleans her wound again.

“Ta ta,” she says, wriggling her fingers as she walks out of the office, hearing Emma’s _what_ _was_ _that_ _all_ _about_? and feeling absurdly victorious.

Like hell that little know it all was going to get twenty dollars out of her.

 

* * *

 

“Emma, I’m serious.”

“I know. I can tell because your forehead vein is basically waving at me.” She’s finishing off her grilled cheese, legs up on her desk and crossed at the ankle. She presses her lips together to keep from laughing at Regina’s expression. The hand that flies up to her forehead.

“Kidding,” Emma says, cutting off a no doubt scalding retort. She feels a little bad for poking fun at an insecurity most people don't know Regina has but she also still might be a little miffed about being practically manhandled by the woman when she'd stomped into the station with blood streaming down her jaw. She's going to be skinning a goddamn cat later if she has to get it down from one more fucking tree. Mrs. Norris will just have to buy another one. Preferably not procured from the Black Market.

Her smile stretches her wound, reopens it. She hisses, scrunching the left side of her face. Karma can bite her. “ _Ow_.”

“You idiot,” Regina mutters as she rushes forward to catch the line of blood before it ruins another one of Emma’s white tanks.

This time Regina is close, this time she lingers, eyes searching, fucking _piercing_. Emma swallows, not able to look away even while her cheeks flush and she _needs_ to.

Again, she speaks before she thinks. “Yours?” She whispers.

The tissue in her hand is an ink blotch painting, lurid crimson. It stills just over her cheek. Regina’s eyes skip down, stay there. Her lips part, only a little, curve; melted caramel irises tip up. Sometimes Emma’s breath knocks loose inside of her when Regina looks at her like this.

Sometimes she thinks she’s tipping over that ledge, hand reaching out for Regina’s.

Sometimes she thinks Regina will take it.

But Regina's eyes are too sad for sometimes and Emma wants to get on her knees and pour everything she feels for Regina into her hands. Her sad, sad eyes. A resignation in them she wants to uproot.

_You both have been through enough pain._

_Do it_ , something whispers inside of her.

But Regina steps back, retracts her hand, straightens. She tosses the tissue into the trash bin. She’d beat Emma and David in a heartbeat, she thinks inanely.

Emma’s hand falls, left alone but for the wind tangling in her hair.

“Tell me you'll be more careful.”

This time, Emma thinks before she speaks.

“I’ll be more careful.”

Her voice doesn’t crack.

 

* * *

 

It’s Lily’s birthday.

As a gift, Maleficent had built her a bar with her magic. The entire town had been invited.

Henry was staying at a friend’s.

She’s got her head tilted up, in awe. She knows there’s a roof but all she sees are stars nestled in a midnight blue sky.

“So, Mal’s a little over the top...and apparently took my confession of loving Harry Potter a little too seriously.”

Emma chuckles, brow rising as she turns to catch Lily’s eyes, indulgent, mouth crooked with her smile. Her hair’s down, ripped jeans and a black leather jacket completing her look. Emma's look is a mirror image but for the fact that her leather is worn maroon.

“You think?” She pulls her in for a hug. “Happy birthday, Lily.”

Lily wraps an arm around her, returning the embrace with fervor. “Thank you. For everything.”

Her arm stays put when she pulls away, a wry smirk forming. Emma shakes her head, chuckling.

“Since when have you wanted to barkeep?” Emma asks, taking in the atmosphere.

The brunette shrugs, grabbing Emma’s hand and lacing their fingers. “This town is boring...so? Shots?”

Emma exhales, thinking about the past few days with Regina. “Oh, hell yes.”

“Zelena!” Lily yells, on tiptoe as she lifts two fingers at the redhead behind the sleek, black marble counter off to the right. Emma’s mouth drops at the ebony, very low-cut, very tight dress. “Tequila for the birthday girl and her date!”

They bump into several dancing bodies before they reach the bar, the place packed, music so loud it’s vibrating in her chest. She loves it.

Zelena arches a brow as she pours two shots with precision. Emma balks.

“Date? Does my dear sister know about this _date_?”

“She was k-” Lily clinks their glasses together, halting her mid-sentence before putting a finger to the bottom of Emma’s glass and pushing up, encouraging her to drink.

It burns. A lot. She screws her eyes shut. _Jesus_ , it’d a been a while.

She sets the glass down, Lily following suit. Her eyes are somewhere over Emma’s left shoulder when she smirks again, eyes dark and glittering. Emma knew that look. It usually preceded trouble.

What the hell was she -

“Well, if she doesn’t she certainly will now.”

And Lily curls a possessive hand around her neck and kisses her.

Her eyes are open in shock and she doesn’t know what to do but let it happen. Lily smells like alcohol and perfume, tastes like alcohol and temptation. Like a dangerous promise. One she doesn’t want to dip her toe into. Not with her, at least.

When Lily pulls away she takes Emma’s bottom lip with her before releasing it.

“Um...?”

She hears Zelena give a low whistle, eyes following Lily’s. “Looks like someone's sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Emma’s stomach drops at the comment.

That can only mean that…

She turns, just catching a very familiar backside, the sparkle of a silver line, a zipper, before a closing door is the only thing she sees.

“Goddammit.”

She’s making her way through the pulse of the crowd in the next breath.

It’s a bathroom, not the exit. She exhales in relief. Maybe Regina hadn't seen anything and only needed to relieve herself or freshen up.

Except when she pushes open the door there’s no one in there.

She steps backward against the cold tile of the wall opposite the sinks, the grandiose mirror reflecting her own face back at her. She lets out a rush of breath, leaning her head back.

God _dammit._

When she comes back to the bar, she slides onto a stool, morose. She shakes her empty glass. It’s full in an instant. She downs it. Welcomes the burning sensation, it echoing in her nose as well.

She gestures for another.

“I, uh. I may have misjudged that,” Lily mutters, repentant.

Emma gives her a side glare. “Ya think?”

She doesn’t see Lily’s wince. Zelena pours her another shot. She lifts it, turning it a little, chin in her free hand before she sets it back down, forefinger and thumb spinning it back and forth; some of the liquid spills and Zelena tuts at her. Emma glances up.

“Bartender? Really?” And she can’t help it, her eyes fall to her chest.

Zelena notices but then again, Emma isn’t really being subtle about it.

“Boredom makes me restless. Restlessness, with me, usually leads to murder and mayhem. Regina doesn’t really approve of that anymore. Besides,” she shrugs, then smirks at Emma, leaning down on her elbows. Her breasts strain against the ‘v’ in her dress. Emma nearly swallows her tongue. God. Had she really been so oblivious to her...preference all these years? “It’s rather amusing watching grown men _and_ women drool over me.”

She snorts when Emma snatches her drink and tilts it back in one jerky motion. Lily slaps her back when she chokes.

“Why are you still here anyway? Shouldn’t you be making eye sex babies with my sister? Or some melodramatic exit that ends with sweaty bodies and cloying declarations of love?”

Emmas shakes her head, throat raw, heart yearning, yearning, yearning. “We aren’t - she doesn’t -”

She stops herself. Thinking suddenly of _don’t_ _be_ _cruel_ , _Emma_ , of Regina’s soft eyes, the way she’d held Emma’s heart like it was the most precious thing in the world to her. Thinking the only reason Regina would have left that quickly if she _had_ seen Lily kiss her was because she was -

“Oh my god.”

“And there goes the light bulb,” Zelena drawls.

Emma bolts. This time not away from Regina but toward her.

 

* * *

 

She's running down Main Street when she realizes she has magic, when she forgets that she should have knocked and is suddenly in Regina's study.

“You missed your cue.” Regina's voice is low, gravelly. She has a glass dangling from her fingers, amber liquid glinting ochre in some places where the light is hitting it.

“Regina - ”

Regina raises a hand and Emma pauses on automatic.

“Whatever inspired speech you're about to give, I’ll save you the oxygen. You clearly need it.” It's a weak jab at Emma's shortness of breath, and that alone makes Emma's brow furrow.

Regina's eyes find Emma's, brimming with pain, her lashes wet. A rejection shining in them Emma never knew could be so palpable.

Emma's fucked up. Big time.

“Some stories don't have happy endings, Emma.”

There's that resignation again. It drags at Regina's voice, tugs it down into a register that makes Emma's chest ache.

“No,” Emma says, shaking her head. “ _No_. You don't get to give up just because I have shitty timing.”

Regina takes a rough swallow of the last of her drink. Her voice is dying embers in a fire, the deep orange in blackened coal.

“Don't make this harder than it already is.”

There's a ceaseless, clamoring chorus of _no_. All in different shades of distress. She steps forward with it.

“Tell me you want this,” she breathes out in a rush, desperate, always so _desperate_ for Regina's touch in moments like these, moving forward to take the glass from Regina's hand and setting it on the mantle above the fireplace. She takes both her hands in her own, tugging a little. “Tell me you want _us_.” A wobble creeps up her throat, knocks against the syllables of her words, makes them teeter. Her eyes start to sting and she flexes her jaw against the rush of hot tears.

Regina’s head dips, eyes on their hands as she shakes her head, mouth twisting. “ _Emma_...please.”

“Please _what_?”

“Let go of me.”

It's whispered, feeble. It stuns Emma so much that she does. She lets go of Regina's hands.

“I - I'm sor- no. No actually, I'm not. Regina, what have we been _doing_? And why are you so convinced it's over when it hasn't even had a chance to begin?”

She curls her hands into fists to keep them from reaching for Regina again.

And Regina just smiles. That sad, sad smile that Emma has begun to _loathe_.

“Because we did, Emma. We had a chance. And we didn't choose each other.”

Emma can't breathe.

“Please don't follow me.”

And then she's gone, tendrils of purple smoke dissipating in the quiet air of the study as Emma's left alone once again.

She doesn't follow her.

 

* * *

 

Halloween had always been Regina's favorite holiday during the curse. Her and Henry would always dress up together; his hand would hardly leave hers. She’d glare daggers into those who deigned only to give her son a few pieces of candy until his bag was so heavy they were forced to turn in for the night. They'd pick their favorites and sort them into plastic bags according to content and name.

Regina’d let him have a few pieces every night after dinner for the few months it'd take for the candy to dwindle down.

Two years before the curse broke was the last time Henry wanted to be around her enough to spend an entire night with her, let alone dress up and hold her hand.

Her heart twinges with an old ache. One she hasn't felt in quite a while. She buries the flash of memory and redirects her attention to the present moment.

“Absolutely not.”

“Regina.”

There’s a prominent, exasperated glare in response, a bit of a whine in her voice that makes her sound ridiculously like her daughter. Regina tamps down a newer ache. One she isn't entirely adept at blocking out yet. “You’re the only one not on board with this.”

Regina peers over her glasses at Snow, now sulking like a petulant child. She rolls her eyes. Some things never changed.

“If it’s a costume you’re worried about I have an extra one made up already,” Snow offers, tone dripping with sickly sweetness.

Regina sets down her pen and leans back in her chair a bit, only entertaining the short-haired brunette because she’s been at this paperwork for hours and her hand is close to cramping. “Oh? And what character would I be?”

“Umbridge.”

There’s an undertone to her voice Regina catches for the briefest of seconds before it’s engulfed by the sheer outrage that overtakes her at the thought of dressing up as _that_ woman.

Regina glowers. “Over my dead body.”

Snow quirks up an eyebrow. “So you have read the books.”

Regina huffs and waves a hand. “Oh, stop with the smugness, Snow, it doesn’t suit you. Of course I’ve read them, they’re Henry’s favorite. That is part of the reason he’s the lead in the play.”

Snow looks at her, confused. “So why won’t you go to the Halloween party? Henry’s surely asked you.”

Regina’s mouth curves into a smirk. “Oh, he has. And I’ve already agreed to go.” Snow blanches at that and Regina’s smirk turns devilish. Just because she was someone Regina now considered close family didn’t mean she couldn’t still have a little fun at her expense. “It’s just incredibly entertaining to watch you not get your way.”

Regina chuckles when her office door slams shut a few seconds later.

 

* * *

 

The six of them are eating dinner at Granny’s the next night when Henry finishes the bite of his burger and wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. Regina opens her mouth to admonish him but Emma cuts her off, grabbing at a napkin in the dispenser near the middle of the table.

“Kid, use a napkin. Honestly, don’t you have any of your mom’s manners?” Emma’s biting back a grin and Henry levels her with a glare. Regina’s stomach twists when Emma turns to her and winks.

_Oh, for god’s sake, Regina, get a hold of yourself. She's just trying too hard today._

Henry wipes his mouth with the proffered napkin, gives a pointed glance to Emma, and then finds her eyes. “So, are you ever going to tell us who you’re dressing up as, Mom?”

“Yeah, aren’t you ever gonna tell us, Regina?” Emma echoes around a fry, emerald irises sparkling with amusement. Regina has to look away.

“And you wonder where our son gets his lack of manners from,” Regina responds, lacking bite.

Emma just smiles and smiles. Regina hasn't seen it so genuine in a long time.

“I’ve told you before, you’ll just have to wait until Friday night to see.”

Four sets of eyes roll at her and she just reaches out her right arm to tickle the back of Neal’s calf, his peel of laughter and ‘Gina, stop that!’ making her heart nearly burst.

 

* * *

 

“Mom! Have you seen my Harry glasses?”

Regina pauses in her closet, wondering how much of her breath has been wasted on apparent deaf ears. She pads out of her bedroom and stops at the top of the stairs, seeing Henry rummaging through the duffel bag he’s been using for his costume and props.

“Henry, how many times have I told you to not yell in the house?”

He stills his movements to turn his head and give a wince that quickly morphs into a sheepish smile. “Uh…I’ve lost count…sorry Mom but have you – ”

“On the desk in my study. You left them there last night when I was helping you with your lines.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, affection deep and winding suffusing within her as she watches him snap his fingers and jog off in the direction of the study.

He halts to a walk and hunches his shoulders just as she calls after him. “And no running – ”

“In the house, yeah, yeah!” He throws over his shoulder with a rough chuckle.

She bites back a smile before turning back to her bedroom.

She’s just finished with her magicked on nails when she hears Henry’s footsteps in her doorway.

“Ready, Mo – oh my god, _Mom_!” She looks up and sees his hand fly up to cover his eyes, his other arm following as if to shield himself.

She frowns, glancing down at herself. She thought she’d done exceptionally well with her costume. She’d stared at the damn picture she’d found on Google long enough.

“What?” 

He gestures at her, “You…you’re…like, _exposed_.”

She scrunches her face in confusion before he peeks through his fingers and raises his eyebrows in disbelief, using his free hand to motion at his own chest.

Oh. Oh, right. Well.

She clears her throat. “Well, it’s part of her…it’s necessary,” she finishes in a rush, shooing him out of her room with her hands.

“All I’m saying is you could’ve given a guy a warning,” he grumbles as she follows him down the stairs.

He pauses just before he opens the front door, eyes narrowed and far too keen. A grin pulls up the corners of his mouth. “Is there any particular reason you chose that for your costume? And would that reason happen to be a person?”

She gives him a hard stare and tugs his coat lapels closer together, fixing his scarf. He raises his eyebrows, expectant and smug (he looks far too much like his other mother when he does that) and Regina just huffs out an impatient breath.

“Henry, don’t start this again.”

He grabs her keys from her hand and lifts his own in mock surrender as he walks backwards to the car. “I’m just saying. Don't step on Ma’s jaw when it lands on the floor in front of you.”

“Henry,” she admonishes as she gets into the passenger side and closes the door. “Remember what we -”

His jaw flexes as he tightens it, eyes on the road. “Yeah,” he says, syllable hard. His knuckles flash white around the steering wheel. “I know.”

Regina swallows, brow knitting with pain as she watches the playful light suddenly drain from his face. She wishes she wasn't the cause of it, wishes it with every goddamn thing inside of her.

She wishes her and Emma could be together. She wishes they could be a family. The kind Henry wants them to be.

He signals right, the click of the blinker almost deafening. Regina moves to apologize. He sighs, hands falling to his lap.

“Wanna walk around the block before we go? I bet the candy’s much better now that we’re finally in the 21st century.”

His smile is crooked, eyes softened with apology. Regina has to swallow a few times, bite the inside of her mouth to keep from crying. Henry turns and pulls the car up to the curb, the neighborhood beyond it teeming with children and parents in costumes, houses decorated, and porch lights on.

When Henry grabs a cloth bag from the backseat and they both make their way toward the entrance he reaches for Regina's hand.

He doesn't let go until they’ve reached the car once more.

 

* * *

 

“Why did you leave so early last night?”

Emma whips her head up, feeling the low ache in her jaw from resting it on the palm of her hand for too long.

“I -” she gets distracted by the way the fabric of Regina's grey dress hugs around her hips and snaps her eyes up a second too late for it to be unnoticed. “I had an early shift,” she says, more like a question than an answer because Regina knows her schedule.

Regina comes to stand in front of her desk, giving her a look. “Yes, clearly. But that isn't why you left.”

Emma’s jaw works, eyes falling to her desk, the paperwork strewn haphazardly across it. She vaguely hopes it irritates Regina, the messiness of it all.

“Well, if you’re so all-knowing why are you asking me?” Emma bites out, flicking her eyes up to catch onto Regina's.

Regina pauses for second, as if discerning whether or not she wants to be honest.

She chooses the latter. “Because I want to hear it from you.”

Emma snorts. “Don't let the door hit you on the way out, then.”

There's silence and then movement, air shifting, and Emma thinks Regina's actually leaving but then a purse plops down on top of her paperwork and a second later she’s tipping her eyes up to meet crossed arms and a very determined brunette.

“I have until three before I have to go pick our son up from school.”

“For fuck’s sake, Regina.”

“Take your time. I'm very patient.”

Emma doesn't take the bait. Instead she stands and grabs her jacket off the back of her chair, stepping around Regina, twisting herself so she doesn't brush against her.

Regina doesn't reach for her, doesn't stop her like Emma was expecting her to.

Emma's an arm’s length away from the door when Regina speaks, stopping her not with touch but sound.

“I wore it to make you want me.”

Emma's hand tightens into a fist around her jacket, her heart skipping a beat inside her chest, causing her breath to hitch, inaudible. Her teeth click when she sets her jaw.

“I didn't stop Maleficent because I wanted to watch you react. I wanted to see your jealousy, Emma. I -” her voice cracks here, “I _needed_ to,” it tapers off into a whisper, like she's too ashamed to voice it any louder.

Her eyes close, unseen by Regina with her back still turned to her. She inhales, a decision made.

“I've been pretending for weeks,” she starts, voice betraying her when it comes out far less furious than she'd intended, too much hurt sewn into it, the stitch clumsy, crooked.

“I know,” she hears Regina rasp.

“I was pretending for you and now you're pushing, demanding me to do something I was already going to do that night.”

“ _Emma_.”

She turns then, throat tightening at the sight of Regina's watery expression, torn.

“You're right,” Emma says, swallowing. “We didn't choose each other then. But I’m choosing you now. Hell, Regina. If I thought for one second you were an option for me? That you felt even half of what I did for you? I'd have chosen you the minute we got back from Neverland. Probably even before.”

“I wanted to drown him in a bucket of his own rum for putting his hands on you in that godforsaken jungle.”

“Yeah,” Emma chuckles, genuine at Regina's raw jealousy. She wholeheartedly understands the appeal in Regina's need. “I know.”

Regina laughs suddenly, sardonic, hair falling over her shoulder as she shakes her head. “God. What a pair we make. I thought you were oblivious. All this time. I thought...I didn't know you felt it, too. Not -”

Regina hesitates, tilts her head, a wistfulness to her words that caresses at Emma’s cheek, loosens some of her anger. “Had I voiced my…” she purses her lips, “ _distaste_...things would have turned out very differently between us, wouldn't they have?”

Emma’s gaze is unrelenting. “I think you know the answer to that.”

Regina nods, her fingers twisting together as they rest against her abdomen, eyes dipping down in an incredibly disarming show of vulnerability.

Emma wants to kiss her. _God_ , she wants to kiss her.

Years and years of so much _want_ and yet now more than ever she feels like she doesn't have any right to touch Regina. Won't until she's been given permission.

And then glistening caramel eyes tip up, so overwhelmingly apprehensive Emma loses her breath.

“Is it too late?”

Emma speaks before she thinks.

“Never.”

 

* * *

 

They're tangled up in each other, sweat starting to cool on their heated skin and when Emma shivers atop Regina, Regina curls her fingers, the comforter sliding over them both. Emma brushes the tip of her nose across the soft skin of Regina's neck before pressing a kiss there as a thank you.

Regina hums before allowing herself to voice the things she's always kept locked away, knowing that Emma would want to hear them, wanting to give to Emma as much as Emma has given to her. "I thought about it once. Getting you to fall in love with me, using it as a weapon, using _you_ as a weapon."

There's a few elongated beats of silence. Emma voices her question when Regina doesn't continue.

"Why didn't you?"

Regina doesn't answer right away. She lets her fingers card through Emma's hair. Lets her eyes trace the freckles and moles down Emma's back. Memorizes every one of them.

"Because I didn't know if I would be able to do it."

"Hurt me?"

"Let go of you."

Emma’s kiss is instantaneous, lips conveying what she can't properly with words. It unravels something inside of Regina.

Her hand curls around Emma's neck, tangles up in hair at the base of her neck. _Mine_ , she thinks, a burst of possessiveness so strong she elicits a whimper from Emma. She loosens her fingers a little, massaging gently in apology. Emma just smiles. So brightly it makes Regina’s chest tighten, feeling three very particular words thrum through her veins with ardor.

“Well, how convenient for you that you never have to.”

Regina loves her so fiercely in that moment she can do nothing but kiss her. Again.

And again. And again. Thinking she would choose Emma in every universe. Every. Single. Time. 

Wondering if, perhaps, she has. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to give you all the most detailed of smut but my muse couldn't fit that into her already busy schedule. I'm sorry. She's a bitch.


End file.
